At five years old, I knew exactly what I wanted. “Mommy, I want to be a ballerina when I grow up.” Tutus and tiaras, music and applause, glitter and make up…what girl could want anything more? “Okay, sweetie,” my mom responded kindly, as she did to so many of my childhood dreams.
My father was the local mortician in our small town, so conversation in our home daily centered on the matter of life and death. The fear of dying consumed me. Sometimes I imagined myself lying in a casket in my father’s funeral home.
My baby slept peacefully in his crib. His father, my young sailor husband, was away at sea and due home in a few days. Although we were expecting another baby, he had asked for a divorce. The rain outside on that cold November night matched the tears running down my cheeks as my heart broke
When I was in high school, I was blessed to have a lot of titles. Cheerleader. Honors Student. Student Body President. But there was one title I found depressing. Dateless. I think I was the only one to graduate from high school without being asked out. Ever. No movies. No fast food jaunts.
1992—“the year in the doldrums,” as many called it—was a year of recession, unemployment, and uncertainty. Sound familiar? It was the year Sam lost his job eleven times in twelve months, starting shortly after the birth of our daughter—the year I (Maria) desperately needed to know that God could
I was the first child and oldest daughter to loving parents, both committed to Jesus Christ. I could sense the joy and peace that surrounded me within our home. I did not I live a fairy tale existence; indeed some of my happiest memories as a very young child occurred during a time of extreme […]